


Superman

by PseudonymousOne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Henry Mills (mentioned) - Freeform, Humor, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymousOne/pseuds/PseudonymousOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - based off tumblr prompt for "the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear"</p><p>  <i>Emma startled awake, her entire body reaching for the alarm. She was halfway there when her brain registered that the LCD numbers currently etching themselves into her corneas were much too low for her liking and that wasn’t music filtering through her ears. She flopped back on the bed and blinked slowly up at the blackness above her, idly wondering if she could shoot the fire alarm from her bed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Superman

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a brief little happy, but _kept getting longer_.
> 
> Rated F for Flustered.

Emma startled awake, her entire body reaching for the alarm. She was halfway there when her brain registered that the LCD numbers currently etching themselves into her corneas were much too low for her liking and that wasn’t music filtering through her ears. She flopped back on the bed and blinked slowly up at the blackness above her, idly wondering if she could shoot the fire alarm from her bed.

She jerked upright. Shit. The fire alarm.

She deliberated briefly on the pros and cons of assuming a false alarm. There _were_ a couple of unruly teenagers in the apartment across the hall. Maybe they thought it would be amusing to pull to fire alarm in the stairwell at — Emma glanced over at the clock again. _Ugh. 3:17 a.m.?_ She had only dropped her badge on the dresser and fallen into bed a little over an hour ago.

Deciding she would rather not wake up dead tomorrow, Emma finally dragged herself out of her cocoon of blankets, slipping on the fleece slippers she tripped over along the way. She was glad Henry was still at his grandparents’ this weekend, so she didn’t have to worry about being an adult right now.

She grabbed her keys and wallet from the table by the door before locking the knob and shuffling out into the hallway with her neighbors. The teens from across the hall were wrestling each other as they passed her, their mother yelling at them while she assisted Mrs. O’Shaughnessy from 4F down the hall.

"Barbara," Emma greeted over the incessant tone of the alarm, wrangling the pyjama clad boys by their hoods. Barbara sent her a haggard smile in appreciation.

"Emma! Didn’t hear you come home. Child, stop pushing your brother, damn it, and go open the door for Mrs. O’Shaughnessy!" She turned her attention back to Emma. "Figured you were still at work. No Henry tonight?"

"Henry. Such a pleasant young man," Mrs. O’Shaughnessy chimed in, before following the boys into the stairwell without waiting for a response.

"Um, no, not tonight. He’s still upstate with my folks. And yeah, I actually just got in a little while ago. Finally got a break in the case."

The idle conversation died as Barbara went back to scolding her sons and Emma followed her frazzled neighbors down the stairs. She had forgotten the season until they filed out into the street and her body was hit by a gust of November air. By the time she turned back to go retrieve her jacket, a surly fireman stood barring reentry. No matter how much bribery she tried.

Grumbling, she moved to stand with the rest of the groggy tenants in the street and await news, wrapping her hands around her arms to protect herself from the cold. There was no cartoonish blaze licking up the side of the building, so she took that as a good sign.

"You’re Henry’s mother, right?"

Emma spun towards the unfamiliar voice speaking her son’s name. She almost lost control of the spin, stumbling to a stop as she faced the dark haired man behind her. He stood there in the middle of the street in nothing but his boxer briefs, duvet draped loosely over his shoulders to fend off the wind. At least, in theory. It wasn’t really covering much.

His dark hair was mussed from sleep — laying flat on one side of his head, standing in several different (mostly upward) directions on the other — and his light colored eyes shone bright from his bearded face, even in the dim streetlight and alternating red and white strobe from the firetruck. Emma’s tired brain immediately supplied her with the only-mostly-unwelcome thought of slow, sleepy, morning sex, and she blinked rapidly to banish the image.

"I, um…" She shook her head. "How do you know Henry?"

The man sent her a smile — _God,_ what a smile — before stepping closer. “I let him through the main door last week when he forgot his keys upstairs. I live next door in 4C.”

"Right!" She knew he looked familiar. He was just usually much more clothed than presently. "Right. Sorry. Feels like everyone in the damn building knows my kid."

"Well, let me formally introduce myself then. Killian Jones." He let go of his loose hold on his duvet to extend his hand.

Jesus. Who gave him permission to have that voice? Is that not illegal? She shook his hand. “Emma Swan.”

"You’re a cop, right?" At her suspicious glance, he simply smiled again. "Neighbor, remember? I’ve seen your badge."

"Oh." Emma followed his gaze as it flickered to her left hip, before realizing that the reason she was currently freezing her ass off out here was that she was in her pyjamas. Pyjamas which, for obvious reasons, did not include her detective shield. "Right."

She must have been shivering more than she thought, because that gorgeous smile turned into an adorable frown. “I’m sorry. This is terribly bad form, me standing here all bundled up while you catch your death out here.”

"No, it’s fine, really. You—"

Her dismissal was cut short as Killian whipped off his duvet and wrapped it snug around her. Leaving him completely exposed in all his underwear clad glory. Emma allowed herself a moment to mentally drool, while he adjusted her new covering. He seemed perfectly comfortable, being on display like this. And with good reason, she supposed. Her neighbor was fit. Not gym fit, but that kind of fitness that comes from hard work and using all of his muscles on a daily basis. His body was littered in small scars and a handful of tattoos, none of which she could see clearly in the dim lighting. What she _could_ see was the smattering of dark hair that coated his chest, ghosted down his stomach, and disappeared behind his waistband.

Her eyes shot up to his as he backed away from his task. She _really_ needed to get some sleep. She cleared her throat.

"Won’t you be cold?" _Yes, good. Think cold thoughts. Don’t think about all that wonderful skin on display before you, and you might just survive this_.

"Nah, thick skin, me. Too many years in the navy to be felled by a brisk breeze."

She doesn’t know what makes her ask. She’s not a fan of small talk, and she tries to avoid personal questions, as they usually get asked in return.

"Is that what the tattoos are from?"

His smile faltered as he shifted uncomfortably, fingers absently going to the small inkjob inside his right forearm. “Some.”

Emma found herself intrigued, but reluctant to push what was obviously a fairly sensitive topic — though she’s not sure if she should steer clear of conversation about the navy or the tattoos. Thankfully, he saves her the trouble by redirecting their discussion, smile back in place.

"So! From your humbled police perspective," he leant closer to whisper conspiratorially, "which one of our neighbors is the ne’er-do-well who dragged us out of our beds in the wee hours of the morning?"

"I don’t know. But whoever he is, I’m gonna make sure he can’t so much get in his car for a month without getting a ticket."

Killian actually tipped his head back as he let forth a rich laugh that Emma was immediately inclined to elicit again. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, love.”

As his laughter faded away, Emma once again broke her rule about personal questions. “Okay, Jones. Since you know I’m a detective, I think it’s only fair I ask what _you_ do for a living.”

"Illustrator by day. Bartender by night."

"Illustrator? Like kids books?"

"A few. I started out just sketching the things I saw in the navy and somehow got roped into being the ship’s personal tattoo artist," he chuckled. "After I… got out, I got picked up for some small-time children’s literature. You know, word of mouth, friend of a friend of a friend kind of stuff. Nowadays, I’m working on a graphic novel series with my brother."

 _Oh, lord. There were two of them?_ "Comic books, huh? No wonder you hit it off with my son."

Killian smirked. “Aye, when I mentioned it, your lad practically leapt straight into a discussion on the merits of the new Captain America that went over _my_ head at times. Personally, I’m more of a DC man, meself.”

“I can tell.”

He cocked his head to the side with a confused smile. Now it was Emma’s turn to smirk, as she nodded toward the large red and yellow ‘S’ styling the front of his light blue boxer briefs. She didn’t think she had ever seen anyone turn as red as Killian did in that moment, the color starting in the tips of his ears and rapidly spreading as he seemed to realize for the first time that night what exactly he was (or, more appropriately, wasn’t) wearing.

“Ah. Right. I, uh… I sort of fell straight out of bed and down the stairs when the alarm sounded.” He shifted awkwardly on his bare feet, hands clasping in front of him in a delayed attempt at modesty.

“I figured.” Finally deciding to put him out of his misery, Emma held one edge of his duvet out to him, unable to keep the amusement off her expression. “More than enough to share. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy has been giving you the evil eye for the last twenty minutes.”

He glanced over in the old woman’s disapproving direction, before pulling an immediate about face back towards Emma, looking every bit the scolded choir boy. He whipped the nearest corner of the covers around his shoulders, almost pulling Emma into his chest in his efforts to save his dignity.

Once they got settled again, Killian now considerably closer but hidden from everyone else by a layer of fluffy down, Emma couldn’t resist anymore. “Bet you wish you could leap tall buildings in a single bound, right about now.”

He just glared at her.

When the fire department filed out half an hour later to inform everyone that a passed out college student on the sixth floor had somehow caught his couch on fire with a blunt, Emma couldn’t find it in herself to be mad.


End file.
